The Thing with Feathers
by Kate Christie
Summary: Castle tells his epic tale of manly valor as he escorts Beckett out of her burning apartment building during "Boom." Episode insert/Tumblr prompt fill from Kristungen.


The Thing with Feathers

"So when I heard you cough, I ignored the billowing cloud of smoke and ash and dashed through the searing-hot wall of flames-"

Castle was nearing the climax of his tale of manly valor, during which its object had remained indulgently silent, but a single note of laughter from her stopped his epic narration.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it from there. Maybe you should start riding along with the NYFD. They could put you in a calendar."

Beckett had insisted on limping down three flights of stairs, leaning heavily on his arm thanks to her bare feet and banged up shins. But despite giving in to his offer of help, her snark had obviously not diminished.

"Detective Beckett, did you just compare my ruggedly handsome physique to a bunch of sweaty, shirtless fireman hunks? Because I would be totally fine with tha- OW!"

"I was thinking more as their mascot. You know, with the dalmations."

"You didn't have to elbow me so hard. I think that's gonna bruise."

"Oh yes, _you're_ the one who's been injured here."

As he pushed open the front door of her building, the whine of sirens crescendoed from the trio of fire trucks barreling up the avenue. An EMS bus was not far behind, so he aimed them in its general direction, but one glance at the sparkling sidewalk strewn with window glass brought him to an abrupt halt.

"OK, Cinderella, hop up."

Castle released her arm and bent to reach beneath her legs. Given her current state of undress, the only way to carry her with any stitch of modesty intact would be to sweep her up bridal style.

"What are you doing?"

Rather than any move to hop, the lady in question raised both hands and tried to shuffle backward, her escape aborted by the door jamb behind her.

"You want glass slippers, I'm sure we can buy you some, but unless you want stitches to go along with your bruises, I'm carrying you over this sidewalk."

Her brows lowered as she scanned the ground, but her glare lost some of its menace when she was forced to blow a tendril of damp hair out of her eyes.

"We can wait until they bring a stretcher over."

Something metal above them groaned ominously, drawing both their eyes up.

"Really? You prefer being buried under a recently exploded building to spending thirty seconds in my arms?"

A creak and a crashing noise above drew twin flinches from them. Her lips pressed together in a tight, pale line as a low growl sounded from her throat.

"Fine."

Leaning into his chest, Beckett wrapped an arm around his neck and let him lift her. Placing his hands gingerly, Castle was careful to make sure the coat covered all the necessary bits before he turned and headed for the opposite side of the street, now littered with gawking onlookers.

"I swear if you let me flash lower Manhattan I will mur-"

"Calm down, the only thing flashing around here are the gum balls."

God, she was light. For all her never-ending legs and fierce, perp-tackling muscle, she had so little actual mass to her. He should start bringing s'morelettes with her morning lattes.

Despite the circumstances, just holding this woman against him, his nostrils filling with the heady mix of smoke and the fruity scent of her body wash, was having exactly the effect he didn't want to show off in front of a bunch of firefighters.

Castle hustled across the street, where paramedics were spilling from all doors of the now-parked ambulance.

"Not one word about damsels in distress, or comparing me to characters from fairy tales, or-"

"Not even in the album version for Alexis and my mother."

"And if I hear one snicker at the precinct about how I was naked in your arms-"

"I'm going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else, because technically, you are in fact naked in my arms."

"I am not naked, Castle. I am wearing a coat."

As he cautiously lowered her feet to the curb, his adrenaline level began to ebb, and he made a conscious, but possibly ill-advised decision to take his time unwrapping himself from body as he shot her a rakish glance.

"Yes, my coat. And I know exactly what you are not wearing under that coat."

The fist she hadn't been favoring rammed into his solar plexus, which was miraculously still flexed from letting her down, or else his masculine image would have been immediately deflated.

As it was, he let out a whoosh of air on an indignant, "oof," as she shook out her hand, only to advance on him again.

"Admit it."

This time a finger poked between his ribs as she straightened to her full height, significantly shorter than usual thanks to her lack of footwear but somehow still completely terrifying.

"What?"

"Admit it, you were looking!"

Her eyes flashed fury as the finger that had been poking now grabbed for his side. How did she know the exact spot to incapacitate him with tickling?

As he shrieked and doubled over, he continued to deny.

"No-no-no-"

Her fingers dug in in earnest, and her breath came hot against his ear as her voice dropped an octave.

"If you ever hope to see any of that skin again you had better start telling the truth."

Her words didn't register as much as provide threatening background orchestration for the panic her fingers were inducing. He caved between yelps.

"Okay maybe for the split second before I realized, but I didn't really see anything interesting, I swear!"

That was apparently the wrong answer, because now her injured hand was getting involved on the twin ticklish spot other his side.

"Apples! Apples! Yes! I saw you naked, and of course it was all interesting, it's burned in my brain for all eternity. Stop-stop-please-can't-breathe-"

All contact abruptly ceased.

Peeking out through his arms, which he had crossed over his head with his instinct to duck and cover, he saw a few nearby uniformed personnel trying to look nonchalant in their inquisitive staring. At least there was no sign of the boys or Agent Shaw.

"Now where's the big hunky hero, huh Castle?" Beckett taunted, a smirk quirking her lips as she stood, looking as superior as anyone could standing in a Manhattan street mostly naked and damp from a shower.

He righted himself, tugging his sweater down and swiping a hand through his likely mussed hair.

"Did Alexis teach you that? I never would have made her for a traitor."

The EMT's had closed in on them both, and they were separated for statements and so her injuries could be checked over. It wasn't until hours later, as he stared intently at the plasterwork on his bedroom ceiling, his partner probably sound asleep upstairs in his guest bedroom, that her words came back to him.

 _"If you ever hope to see any of that skin again..."_

A smile worked its way across his face as he pushed up on his elbows, sheet dipping to expose his bare chest to the chill in the room.

After all this time as her partner, Beckett ought to know: for Richard Castle, hope, among other things, springs eternal.

# * # * # * #

From a tumblr prompt with the line: "I'm going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else." Requested by Kristungen. Thanks! And thanks to Alex for the quick BETA.

Title comes from an Emily Dickinson poem, the first stanza of which is as follows:

"Hope" is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

Twitter: Kate_Christie_  
Tumblr: KathrynChristie dot tumblr dot com


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